


Like Canned Peaches

by FunkyMeihem



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Daydreaming, F/M, Masturbation, Meihem - Freeform, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, junkmei, meirat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyMeihem/pseuds/FunkyMeihem
Summary: Junkrat's unrequited crush on Mei shows no signs of waning, and just the thought of her is driving him crazier than usual.





	Like Canned Peaches

“Brrrr! I get cold just lookin’ at ya!”  
  
He’d waited hopefully for a response to his attempt at casual conversation, brows lifted as he stared intently at the irritated woman in the fluffy parka who was clearly doing her best not to pay any attention to him. He’d even offered his most winning smile, the kind with slightly less teeth, before she fully turned towards him and sternly pushed her glasses up with one gloved finger. Her adorable little lips had pursed as she lifted her nose in the air and finally, finally spoke directly to him.  
  
“Then you should look somewhere else!”  
  
That had been their first real interaction. Mei turned him down flat.  
  
But then again, that had hardly been the first time Junkrat had been turned down flat by the object of his attentions. In fact, he was turned down flat most of the time, and knew the only solution was to keep trying. He’d made several attempts after that one, each just as unsuccessful as the last, and took increasingly desperate measures to make her look his way, maybe give him another irked scowl, or fling more of her mild insults at him. The accusations of being a horrible, no-good bully didn’t really bother him. He’d been called much worse than that over the years, with much more colorful junker vernacular. But he couldn’t help but notice that he was the only one in the entire group to earn that particular brand of ire. So, he figured that in his own strange way, he must have been special to her. And he liked that idea very much, being special to her.  
  
She was everything unknown to him; she was quiet where he was loud, she was soft and curvy where he was gaunt skin and bones, she used ice just as he used fire, and she was softspoken and polite where he was raucous and blunt. She had little apple-cheeks that dimpled when she smiled, even if it was never at him, and her little giggles sounded like tinkling bells that could grab his attention even through the constant ringing in both his ears. She even smelled nice, from what he’d been able to whiff of her before her giant Russian brick shithouse of a friend had grabbed his head and thrown him in the opposite direction, like vanilla extract that came in those little bottles that smelled wonderful but didn’t taste so wonderful, or flowers he didn’t know the name of.  
  
He’d never really seen a woman like her in person before. The women in the Outback were much like the men of the Outback; their brains just as baked as their half-starved bodies, with vicious demeanors, loud voices, leathery tits, and cunts that felt like being in the inside of a baseball glove. The sheilas on the covers of the magazines (at least the human ones, any pictures of omnic women were promptly destroyed with prejudice) were always almost as scrawny as the women in the Outback, always had their eyes closed or looked vacantly confused, and usually were half covered with text about the ten most beneficial yogurts or other things that women seemed to worry about in the outside world. Occasionally he’d get his grimy claws on the good kind of magazine, the ones where they arched their backs and got their tits out and bit their fingers and looked at him real seductive-like, but he usually spent more time trying peel the sticky pages apart without ripping the good bits, and trying not to imagine the previous owner as he did so.  
  
And then there was Mei, who was different from everyone in the best possible way he could think of, and he wished she didn’t hate him so much.  


* * *

  
  
It was a little after lunchtime, and most of Overwatch’s agents had eaten and left by now, leaving only a handful of stragglers and latecomers. Junkrat was normally the type to inhale his food within seconds and then spend the rest of his time trying to irritate the more leisurely Roadhog, but for once he left his bodyguard to eat his pasta in relative peace. Instead he was trying to subtly peek around his partner’s wide belly, staring at where Mei and Tracer were lingering at their table, chatting and laughing and not taking any notice of him. He rocked back and forth in his seat as the metal tip of his pegleg tapped against the floor, nervous energy left without an outlet except restless squirming. The back of Tracer’s spiky-haired head was blocking his view of Mei, and he wished he’d brought along a few of his concussion mines, maybe just to toss one under their table and blow Tracer up and off to the side without hurting her too bad, they probably wouldn’t get too mad if she wasn’t hurt much.  
  
“Shut up,” Roadhog said suddenly, and Junkrat became aware that he was making a distressed whining noise in his throat.  
  
“Didn’t say anything!” he snapped in reply, leaning over to try and peek at the ladies’ table again. “Can’t see anything, either. Ya think I should go over there, maybe? Introduce myself?”  
  
“They know who you are,” Roadhog said, lifting the bottom of his mask to take a mouthful of salad.  
  
“To just give ‘em a charming how do ya do, then! Nothing wrong with a friendly hello, yeah? Just say hi, maybe see what she’s wearing. Ugh, still can’t see, what do you think she’s wearing?”  
  
Roadhog shrugged. “Probably the same thing she’s always wearing.”  
  
“Yeah! Yeah she probably is! Probably those real tight stretchy leggin’s, and that blue tank with the- Oi, mate, what’s the top part of the tits again?”  
  
“Cleavage.”  
  
“Yeah, with the cleavage! Real ace cleavage, too. Some real High Distinction cleavage, top scores, best in the biz…Bet she already knows, though. She’s real smart, Roadie. Got degrees in weather or some shit, proper schoolin’ and everything, bet she duxed everything she’s ever done. You know what that means?”  
  
“What.”  
  
“It means we got a lot to talk about! She’s smart, I’m smart…maybe not book-schoolin’ smart, arroight, but I can teach her a thing or two about a thing or two! Wait! Wait, shuttup, Hog, they’re doin’ something!”  
  
Tracer collected her empty plate, laughed at something hilarious that Mei must have said before giving the other woman a one-armed hug, and then blinked off into the kitchens in a flash of blue. That left a full view of Mei, who was indeed wearing Junkrat’s favorite type of blue top with the cleavage, hurrying to finish the remainder of her meal alone.  
  
“Now’s my chance! How do I look?” He smoothed back the charred remnants of his hair, crunching slightly under his fingertips, before cupping his palm and breathing into it several times. “How do I smell?”  
  
“Hmm. Not good.”  
  
“Fuck you, Roadie! Er, actually…You got a minty?” He patted his own pockets, as though breath mints might have mysteriously appeared when he wasn’t looking.  
  
“No.”  
  
“What do I pay you for!? She’s not going to want kisses from yours truly if I still got rat mouth! Fuck, I think she just looked at me!…Okay…Okay, no, she was looking at the drink machine. That’s a good sign, right? This is my chance, fortune favors the bold. I’m gonna go say a real nice hello.”  
  
Hog didn’t bother looking up. “Okay.”  
  
Junkrat puffed out his scrawny chest resolutely, throwing both gangly leg and peg out the side of the booth before standing, sauntering as suavely as possible towards the end table where the little climatologist was already eying him warily above her glasses. He plastered on his usual smile, lofting his brows in what he hoped looked friendly instead of his usual deranged menace, and came to a stop beside her. “So! G’day, Mei! Couldn’t help but notice you was…uh…eatin’.”  
  
Mei’s stony expression remained unchanged, though she managed a gruff “Yes.”  
  
Junkrat swallowed, eyes darting. “Yeah, me too! Me, I love eatin’. It’s uh, near the top of my list of favorite things to do, eatin’. Had some kinda porkchop thingy, and some beans. You, uh…you like...beans? Heh! Yeah, dumb question, right? Who don’t like beans? Anyways, if you ain’t had dessert yet, I could get you one of them lil’ cakes to share if you want, the chocolate ones ar-” He went to place one arm on her table and lean towards her, but his weight threw off the balance from its center stand, and the whole table suddenly tilted dangerously to one side, causing Junkrat to stumble as he hurried to steady it. Mei’s drink toppled to one side with a clank and splashed all over her front, causing her to shriek and jolt back in her seat.  
  
“Oh fuck! Fuck, sorry! Sorry! Fuck me, I’m sorry!” He grabbed a fistful of napkins from the dispenser and frantically began to try and pat down her soaked chest and face, but she brusquely slapped his hands away, lifting from her chair. Junkrat panicked. “It was an accident, swear it. Mei, wait!”  
  
She smacked his hand away as he reached towards her again, her jaw set and her lower lip out in a sort of puffy anger. “That’s Miss Zhou to you, and get your hands off of me! You’ve caused enough trouble! You are always causing trouble!”  
  
“W-well I don’t think that’s entirely fair, love!” he sputtered. “I mean, Miss Zhou. S’just a bit of water. Hey, water right under the bridge, eh?”  
  
She scowled all the harder at him, and even her scowl was adorable. “You probably did it on purpose!”  
  
Junkrat guffawed, placing an affronted hand to his chest. “I never! I’d never mean to spill water on your…uh, ya know.” He couldn’t help it. His eyes darted downward, down to where the wet blue fabric was clinging all the harder to her bosom, slick and wet and outlining the fabric of her bra and each breast beneath.  
  
“ _Zhè hái liǎo dé_!” She snapped, covering herself with one arm and grabbing the wet wad of napkins from the table, flinging them in his face before storming off towards the kitchens.  
  
Junkrat stood stunned for a moment, the soaking wet paper sliding sickeningly down his eyes and nose before dripping with an audible plop onto the floor. Wiping the moisture from his face, he turned to glare with all the ferocity he could muster at the handful of other Overwatch agents, who had watched the whole thing transpire. They looked away and conversation slowly returned, as the defeated junker skulked back towards his seat, slumping down into it.  
  
“How did it go?” Roadhog asked mildly, as though he hadn’t witnessed it happening a few feet away just moments ago.  
  
“…Still workin’ on it, mate. Gotta think of a better opening line. Maybe she doesn’t like beans as much as I thought.”  
  
His partner merely sighed in that long-suffering huffing way inside his mask, the kind where Junkrat could tell he was secondhand frustrated but not truly interested enough to get involved. Roadhog had been hired as his standover man, after all, not his caretaker. Unless his employer was surrounded by people who wanted to kill him, which happened quite a lot, Hog preferred to stay out of his business and especially his nonexistent love life. Occasionally Hog would offer a rag or a pat on the back all those times that Junkrat had drinks thrown into his face, but he seemed to be mooning especially hard over the little Chinese woman for some reason, and Hog could tell that this one was going to lead to trouble. The younger junker already had that far-away look in his eyes, boot tapping away nervously under the table.  
  
“What are you going to do?”  
  
“I dunno. Probably gonna go have a wank,” Junkrat responded casually.  
  
Roadhog shrugged and shoved another forkful of tortellini into his jaws, clearly uncaring of his employer’s ‘exploits’ and more intent on his meal.  
  
The same could not be said of the silky-haired archer, who just happened to be passing by at that exact moment. Never one to pass up an opportunity to insult one of those he deemed beneath him, which was nearly everybody, he paused in mid-stride and curled his lip up on one side as he regarded Junkrat with disdain.  
  
“Disgusting,” he said, voice dripping with revulsion.  
  
Junkrat bristled at that, rising up to his full towering height as he exited the booth, staring the archer down. “Oi! Hamzo! Yeah, whatever your name is! Say it to my face!”  
  
“I did,” Hanzo replied curtly, and began to walk away.  
  
Junkrat was slightly dumbfounded, but yelled after him anyway. “Yeah!? Well! Ain’t nothing wrong with it, it’s all natural! Maybe you should look into it, might help you with that shit attitude! Yeah, probably jealous of me! Jealous, cause I get to have both my tits out at once! Right here!” He pounded both fists to his scrawny chest before peeking behind him to see if Mei had been there to be impressed by his verbal thrashing of the archer, but she was nowhere in sight.  
  
Shoving both hands into his pockets and bending back down into his usual slouch, the scorned junker turned and skulked back down the halls. He had business to attend to, after all.  


* * *

  
  
His trailer was a ‘safe’ distance away from the other areas of the Overwatch base, after he had blown up several laboratories and Winston had nearly had a mutiny on his hands when Symmetra and Torbjorn’s labs were blown up with them. Eventually they’d brought in the trailer for him, and simply left it out in the far yards away from everyone else. And that suited Junkrat just fine. The dorms were too square and sterile and comfortable and they had that creepy computer lady always watching them, and he’d never liked having neighbors. Neighbors usually stole your shit or tried to off you, eventually. Nobody ever visited him out here except Hog, who lived in the converted storage garage next door. Everyone on base had quickly learned to avoid the whole junker territory. Within a week the trailer was in a state that should have left it condemned; there were scorch marks everywhere, visible and invisible traps along the perimeter, a hoard of trash and junk parts piled high inside the barbed wire fences, and ‘KEEP OUT I MEAN IT MATE’ signs that Junkrat had lovingly painted himself.  
  
The weather was blisteringly hot, and Junkrat liked it. He threw open the screen door hanging askew in his entrance, deftly stepped over the trap under the welcome rug, and pushed his way past the piles of papers, bombs, garbage, and strange little projects he’d forgotten along the way. He pulled himself onto his little shelf of a sleeping area, though his body was too tall to ever stretch out on it fully, squirming onto his side and struggling briefly to remove his leg and arm. Had to get comfortable for something like this, after all. The mechanical parts clunked loudly onto the floors beside him as he sprawled onto his back, his single foot hanging off the edge of the hard mattress.  
  
He deftly undid his belt one-handed, unzipping and impatiently shuffling his shorts down from his bony hips. He’d expected himself to be half-hard already, as he usually was in any interaction with Mei whatsoever, but his donger had apparently been a little more embarrassed by the situation than his brains, and he was quite flaccid. Well, time to change that up.  
  
Reaching under the wad of coats and old clothes he used as a pillow, he retrieved a nearly empty tube, setting the cap between his teeth as he twisted it open with his single hand before using his tongue to spin it around, biting the end to force out an amount of the gel into his palm before spitting it aside to deal with later. He’d gotten good at using his mouth after losing his arm, although trying to explain this to the ladies didn’t always work in the way he hoped. Well, maybe one day if they were both lucky, Mei would get to know all the talented things his mouth was good at.  
  
He felt his cock twitch a little promisingly at that thought as he reached down, pulling the base into his hand and starting to smear the lube over himself before starting to coax himself to real hardness, pressing the broad flat of his thumb into the top, running his long fingers along the sensitive underside from base to tip. He felt warm and sticky and slowly relaxed as his length grew and stiffened under his touch, spreading his legs a little more in the cramped space as he shoved the stump of his arm beneath his head, staring blankly at the dirty ceiling a few inches away as he gently worked himself.  
  
He’d never bring Mei to a place like this, but maybe one day after they’d kissed and made up proper, she’d invite him into her room, he decided. She’d be wearing that blue tank top of hers and…oh yeah, just thinking of that peek of cleavage made him harder, grunting a little as he quickened his touch…yeah, those tight leggings of hers too. But he saw her in those a lot and wanted more. So she’d strip them off quickly, because she’d want him just as badly as he wanted her. She wore a sensible bra, he’d found that out by accident, and probably had panties to match. Yeah, little cotton numbers, no lace…maybe a little bow or two? Something subtle and cute, hugging those beautiful broad hips of hers, little strips of color on her curves. And she’d look at him but smile and blush a little…she’d want him.  
  
His hand stroked lazily up and down, adding a little twist on the head of his cock and he was starting to pant and groan above the wet shuffling noises of the lube inside his fist. “Yeah…yeah, that’s good…”  
  
He’d kiss her first. Not just jump on her like a starving dingo, like he normally did. Mei was too good for that, worth more than that to him. No, he’d kiss her proper, maybe after practicing on the back of his hand first just to make sure it’d be real good for her. Not too much tongue (he always used too much tongue), or at least not at first. Would it be awkward, maybe? She barely stood up to the height of his ribs, but that would be fine. He’d lean over her, maybe help pick her up on her little tippy-toes. He’d kiss her a lot, until she didn’t have any breath left, and she’d make sweet little noises for him as he’d hold her chin up towards him and kiss her again.  
  
But then, he wanted to get his arms around that soft little body, wrap them around her and hold her first, like real romance sorts of things. Okay, maybe he’d grope her ass a bit too, get two nice handfuls of that, but at that point she’d be wanting him to just as bad. She’d pull down the straps of her bra, undo those fucking awful hard-to-not-break clasps on the back, and it’d drop away and reveal those magnificent, glorious tits of hers. Fuck, they’d probably even bounce a little once freed…big, creamy white, milky, round, amazing tits…  
  
He grunted, speeding his wrist up a little as his hand worked more frantically around his cock, tightening and squeezing.  
  
He wanted his hands on them, even the mechanical one that couldn’t feel anything beyond basic pressure. His flesh hand, though, against her flesh, he wanted that most of all. They’d be full and soft, so soft and plush and pliable beneath his fingers, kneading them steadily. They’d have weight to them, each one charmingly crowned by peaked, large puffy pink nipples, the kind he wanted to suck on. The blurry pictures in his mind solidified a little more as he imagined her, her face flush and her arms around his shoulders as he’d urge her back towards her bed, half kneeling over her as he latched his lips onto one of the little velvety nubs. He’d suckle at her almost hungrily, rolling his face to one and then the other, maybe bury his face between them and be enveloped by softness. Maybe…Maybe she’d let him nibble at them just a little? Would it make her moan? Yeah, she’d like it, if he was careful with his teeth. Just a little threat of a pinch with his pointed canines before he’d soothe her by sucking them again. And he’d probably be content to drown himself in her bosom forever, but she’d want more, and he’d give it to her.  
  
His back arched and his head moved back against his makeshift pillow, eyes closed and chin pointed towards the ceiling as he continued jerking himself to the very thought. It was so hot inside his trailer, and his perspiration felt cloying and sticky against every inch of exposed skin, attracting little molecules of gasoline and aerosol and other poisonous things that slid and oozed down his temples and arms in every drop of sweat. The air was thick with it, almost radioactive. It felt absolutely perfect.  
  
She’d whisper things to him. Not mean things like she usually did, either, but nice things. Maybe in Chinese (He should learn some Chinese, that would impress her) about how much she wanted him right now. It was easier to imagine them in Chinese gibberish. She’d never said a kind word to him otherwise. But that was fine for now, those Chinese sweet nothings were all he needed.  
  
 He’d lay her down, make sure she was all comfortable and whatnot on her blankets before spreading her legs for her, make sure she had lots of those fluffy pillows under her…she seemed like the type who would have lots of pillows, a real lady sort. He liked that idea more than he thought he would, really…the sight of her propped up amongst all that lace and silk and proper lady shit, with her legs spread just for him in the most un-proper lady way. She’d look real soft and pink and open for him, and he wouldn’t hesitate even a moment before he’d dive his head down between those milky white thighs. He’d wrap his arms around each thigh, but even his strength wouldn’t be able to stop her from squeezing him between them, until he couldn’t hear anything but the muffled sounds of her gasps and the blood rushing in his ears. He knew how to use his mouth and tongue, he’d show her everything he knew.  
  
_And he’d eat her up…_  
  
The thought made his body jolt off the mattress in a way that almost surprised even him, as though he was trying to drive himself into his fist all the harder. He was moaning loudly, hips moving in time with his hand as he writhed. His tongue lolled from his mouth almost as if he could taste her already, slavering as a rivulet of warm saliva oozed from one corner of his mouth and down his pointed chin.  
  
He already knew in his mind’s eye exactly what she’d taste like, too. He thought at first that maybe she’d taste like ice cream, like the treats he and Roadie would steal at the beach. He’d sure lick her like a creamsicle, he would. Then he thought maybe she’d taste like peppermints, spicy and cool on the inside just as much as her outside. And then, for maybe just a second or two, he thought she’d taste like pancakes? He wasn’t sure where that one had come from, maybe he was just still hungry. But no. After a moment he knew…She’d taste like canned peaches, like the best damn thing he’d ever eaten in his entire life.  
  
He had been a younger rat then, though he couldn’t recall how old. He remembered that he had been smaller and scrawnier then, but mostly he just remembered the hunger. There had been a shortage of food everywhere, and even his favorite old scrounging grounds and garbage dumps had yielded almost nothing. He had grown skinnier and weaker, and when he had finally been chased out of town for trying to steal from the wrong person, he wandered in circles for days out in the desert, alone save for the vultures that followed his every move. His stomach had shrunk, then swelled with the bloat of starvation, then shrunk again. He didn’t have enough water to waste crying and his mouth tasted like ash and dust, staggering about on bone-skinny legs as he sought quietly for a sheltered place to die.  
  
He had found a burnt-out abandoned ute somewhere amongst the rocks and sand, and hit paydirt when he searched and found that someone else had been using it as a supply drop. There, tucked in a satchel under one of the seats, was a collection of food fit for a king. He had wrestled one of the cans open with nothing but his bare hand and a nearby rock, his stomach growling and snarling in excitement the whole time. When he finally managed to dent the lid enough to twist it open, there they were…canned peaches. He had tilted his head back and drank deeply, his senses flooded with an overwhelming, almost cloyingly sugary sweetness as the syrup poured thickly into his open mouth. The bits of bright yellow-orange fruit were slippery and wet and luscious against his tongue, a better treasure than anything he’d found in that ruined old omnium. He hadn’t bothered chewing or savoring, just let them slide down his throat and into the cavern of his belly, where their sweetness pooled at the empty bottom. It had been an almost otherworldly experience, eating those canned peaches. It had been, and remained, far and away the best thing he’d ever eaten.  
  
That’s what she would taste like, he decided. Like eating those canned peaches all over again.  
  
He’d eat her until he was full. Until his lips and chin were wet and shining from peachy juice, and she’d have come for him at least twice. _But Jamie_ , she’d whisper, _I’m not full yet, I’m not done_. And then she’d go back to Chinese again because Junkrat still couldn’t imagine her voice being nice otherwise, but he’d know what she meant. She’d want him to fuck her proper.  
  
His eyes rolled back into his head, singed lashes fluttering helplessly. He tightened his fist, thrust his hips up into it until the friction almost burned. He was a vocal bloke, he knew, and usually by this stage the entire Outback knew what he was doing. But the roos and lizards never gave a fuck and neither did he, moaning and grunting and hissing through his bared teeth, and sometimes whispering little encouragements to himself, because what was wrong with a little encouragement during any kind of job, especially a handjob?  
  
In his mind, anyway, he was speaking to Mei. “Nnnh! Gghh…good girl, you’re my good girl…Y-yeah, nnhh, there we go…”  
  
Her cunt would already be soaking wet and ready for him, easing her back into the mattress to kiss her again before mounting her. He’d slide into her, smooth as silk, and she’d be soft and hot on the inside like nothing he’d felt before. Better than any fist or cunt or arse he’d been in, for sure, because it was hers. He tried to imagine her cute little face, the expressions she’d wear as he fucked her, looking up at him with those big dark eyes, with her bangs in her face and her bun coming undone against her pillows. Noises, too, she’d squeak and gasp and make sweet sounds all for him. And call his name a bit too, he liked that. She’d welcome him on every thrust forward, so he could bury himself deep again and again until he was lost. He wanted all that.  
  
But mostly he wanted whatever it was within her, which wasn’t heat but was somehow hotter than any flame and more all-encompassing than any napalm he’d ever made, that thing that burned inside all that ice of hers, something he didn’t have a word for. But he fucking wanted it as much as he wanted any treasure, maybe more. And he wanted her to want him back, combine his fire and her ice, his destruction and her preservation, until they burned together in whatever beautiful and hellish storm such a combination would create. Something like an explosion, but nothing he could do without her.  
  
He needed it, he needed more heat, more friction. His own hand didn’t feel like it would be enough as he writhed atop the filthy trailer mattress. Sparks tingled under his skin and he knew he was reaching his edge. He panted and grunted helplessly, speeding his strokes over his aching cock. He wanted Mei under him, needed something under him. He twisted in the confined little space and threw himself onto his belly, balling up his pillows and mounds of clothes into a pitiful lump and pulling himself atop it, humping desperately forward with quick jabbing motions of his hips into his slick fist. Sweat rolled down his body, breath a painful-sounding rasp and his eyes open but unseeing.  
  
She’d tighten around him, squeezing and pulsing, crying his name. Their bodies would burn together and she’d open her eyes and kiss him, her lips tasting like those canned peaches, and she’d say that she lov-  
  
He almost screamed when he came, coming utterly undone as he pushed forward a final time. He felt it spurting hot and wet into his hand, dribbling through his fingers as he groaned and fell onto his back once more. He shivered, cum still leaking up onto his belly, pooling in all the ridges of his gaunt abdomen. The images of Mei’s smile were already fading even as he tried to keep hold of them, drifting away like little embers on the wind, replaced with a calming emptiness as he rested and tried to catch his breath.  
  
“Blech. Well, that’s a clean-up.” Eventually he was himself again, making a face at his mess-covered hand and carelessly smearing it onto some article of clothing (An apron? Why did he even have an apron?) on his bed nearby, grabbing a dirty pillowcase and wiping his stomach free of stickiness as well. He felt a lot better now, self-satisfied and lazing about in the stifling atmosphere of his trailer.  


* * *

  
  
He must have been so relaxed that he’d fallen asleep, because he found himself waking up when there was a sudden rapid knocking at his door. The sun had almost gone down and he grumbled as the buzzing in his head returned, groping with one lanky arm until it found the string dangling from the ceiling, activating the one sputtering light bulb above his workbench. Rolling off his bed and hopping towards the entry, he appeared one-legged, one-armed, and totally naked as he swung open the screen.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
There was a high-pitched shriek as Mei staggered back, face burning red and covering her eyes. “MR. FAWKES!”  
  
Junkrat shrieked as well, trying to cover himself with one working hand and one nonexistent one, weight thrown off as his leg went out from under him, the screen door crashing shut as there was a heavy fall and a clatter of garbage within. A moment later the door swung open again, the junker frantically buttoning his shorts and his peg leg attached backwards. “Mei! I mean, Miss Zhou! I uh, I just didn’t expect anybody comin’ my way this evening. Er, what can I do for ya?”  
  
She peeled a finger away from her glasses, making sure it was safe before straightening politely and giving a little cough. “I’m here to invite you to a little party we’re having next week, and just trying to plan how many we’ll have.”  
  
Junkrat stared at her for a moment. “Pull the other one!” He frowned, gaze turning suspicious and wiggling his jaw to one side. “What’s that about?”  
  
She looked away, glancing over the piles of scrap and burnt-out oil barrels around her unhappily. “Well, it wasn’t my idea! Zarya wanted to invite Mr. Roadhog, but he said he wouldn’t go without you…I think. I think that’s what he meant. He doesn’t say very much.”  
  
“Well…uh.” He awkwardly leaned to adjust his leg, turning it on backwards and clamping it back into place. “I’m invited? Yeah! Sure! Sure, you’re going? Yeah, might as well make an appearance, right? And look, real sorry for the water thing earlier, honestly didn’t mean to-”  
  
Now it was her turn to look sheepish, though at least she finally looked at him with something other than disdain. “Oh! No, no, it’s fine. I actually wanted to apologize for that. It was an accident and I lost my temper, I’m sorry I yelled. And threw wet napkins at your face. And you can still call me Mei.”  
  
Something like hope bloomed in his ribcage, expression brightening as he leaned on the doorway. “It’s fine! It’s all fine, darl. Like I said, water under the bridge. Or sand, if ya got that, wasn’t a lot of water back in Oz. Point is, it’s all fine, it’s all great.”  
  
She smiled like she wasn’t really sure about his joke, but she still smiled. “Oh, okay. Well, I’ll go tell Roadhog and Zarya that you’ll be joining us. I’ll, um…I’ll see you around, Mr. Fawkes? I’d better go. Oh, I almost forgot to ask, was there anything you wanted us to buy for drinks?”  
  
He looked her up and down, licking suddenly dry lips. “Yeah, Mei, love…You got anything that tastes like peaches?”


End file.
